Smudges
Well, something was bound to come out of all those Angie Aparo CDs...Angst! Melodrama! We hurt small children!
She sits on his bed and watches as he packs his things. He hasn’t much to stow away in the kitbag. His uniforms are tossed over the sheets beside her. He won’t be allowed to take them with him, leaving him nothing but his clothes from the time before; a few threadbare shirts and pants from their days below, a scuffed and peeling pair of boots, the occasional stray sock. He stuffs them all in without care for wrinkles or conserving space, shoving wads of cloth violently into place.
The pack seals shut, airtight, with a hiss. He sits back on his heels and runs a hand through already mussed hair. She swings her legs gently, drumming her feet against the mattress. Her hands are folded in her lap, settled over a cloth-wrapped lump. His guns. He won’t be needing them where he’s going. That’s the idea, anyway. Besides, he isn’t official personell anymore; no way would he be allowed out the front door with them in his bag. She almost thinks he’d miss those guns as much as he’d miss her, reluctant as he was to hand them over. Or maybe he’s afraid she’ll lose them in the clutter of her own room. She fingers the protruding curve of a muzzle, nicks and missing chips become evident under questing fingers.
“I guess that’s it, then,” He says, rising to his feet. Her legs come to a stop, backs of her calves pressed tight against the mattress as if to hold herself there.
He is halfway turned towards the door, kitbag slung over his shoulder, hands stuffed into his pockets. She stares at him hard, lower lip puckered in as she sucks at it. She wants to tell him that she’ll miss him, she’ll be lonely without him, how she fears that nothing will ever be the same. She wants to tell him how alien everything will be, that she can’t possibly carry on alone what they’d begun together. But saying any of those things would imply that he didn’t already know, that he had already moved so far away from her that he couldn’t read them for himself. And that would be too awful to bear.
“I’m always on your side,” she blurts into the awkward pause. His hand is on the lock mechanism, the door slides open with a calming ssh. A long narrow rectangle of light from the hall slices through the room, zigzagging its way up as far as her lap. It doesn’t quite reach the wrapped weapons.
“Funny,” he says at last, turning his head just far enough to catch her in the corner of his eye, “I thought it was our side. Just the two of us.”
She smiles suddenly at his back, painful, genuine, squeezed out by the sharp constriction of her chest. The door whooshes shut behind him as he leaves, and she is alone in the hush.
I really want to ink and shade that...
And a random gag comic that came shortly thereafter in the timeline. I love the 'what the fuck?' faces. ^_^
Neph's sort of pining after Cade (it's pathetic and sad and if anyone ever brings it up she will relocate their kidneys), hasn't really been eating or sleeping, so Todd gets the genius idea of hitching a tray of food up to Neph's dog. Random bystanders Kisho and Damian are...befuddled. Elly takes her job as sled dog very seriously.
Though I decided to take the semester off the comic to concentrate on my workload for Perspective Drawing (see fandf), I still want to do something productive for it. So I'm going to try and revamp the profile pictures in that time. Because they need it desperately. Not that they suck, exactly, just that there've been some drastic style changes on my part and character design changes on theirs. And I have more confidance in my costume design abilities now. I want to get profiles for the secondary cast up and running too. Which means I need to sit down and plot out more Guardians, 'cause Damian, Inya and Joy aren't enough (I hesitate to include Tasha in the rolecall unless Rae gives me permission to weild her). So that's something to look forward to!
She sits on his bed and watches as he packs his things. He hasn’t much to stow away in the kitbag. His uniforms are tossed over the sheets beside her. He won’t be allowed to take them with him, leaving him nothing but his clothes from the time before; a few threadbare shirts and pants from their days below, a scuffed and peeling pair of boots, the occasional stray sock. He stuffs them all in without care for wrinkles or conserving space, shoving wads of cloth violently into place.
The pack seals shut, airtight, with a hiss. He sits back on his heels and runs a hand through already mussed hair. She swings her legs gently, drumming her feet against the mattress. Her hands are folded in her lap, settled over a cloth-wrapped lump. His guns. He won’t be needing them where he’s going. That’s the idea, anyway. Besides, he isn’t official personell anymore; no way would he be allowed out the front door with them in his bag. She almost thinks he’d miss those guns as much as he’d miss her, reluctant as he was to hand them over. Or maybe he’s afraid she’ll lose them in the clutter of her own room. She fingers the protruding curve of a muzzle, nicks and missing chips become evident under questing fingers.
“I guess that’s it, then,” He says, rising to his feet. Her legs come to a stop, backs of her calves pressed tight against the mattress as if to hold herself there.
He is halfway turned towards the door, kitbag slung over his shoulder, hands stuffed into his pockets. She stares at him hard, lower lip puckered in as she sucks at it. She wants to tell him that she’ll miss him, she’ll be lonely without him, how she fears that nothing will ever be the same. She wants to tell him how alien everything will be, that she can’t possibly carry on alone what they’d begun together. But saying any of those things would imply that he didn’t already know, that he had already moved so far away from her that he couldn’t read them for himself. And that would be too awful to bear.
“I’m always on your side,” she blurts into the awkward pause. His hand is on the lock mechanism, the door slides open with a calming ssh. A long narrow rectangle of light from the hall slices through the room, zigzagging its way up as far as her lap. It doesn’t quite reach the wrapped weapons.
“Funny,” he says at last, turning his head just far enough to catch her in the corner of his eye, “I thought it was our side. Just the two of us.”
She smiles suddenly at his back, painful, genuine, squeezed out by the sharp constriction of her chest. The door whooshes shut behind him as he leaves, and she is alone in the hush.
I really want to ink and shade that...
And a random gag comic that came shortly thereafter in the timeline. I love the 'what the fuck?' faces. ^_^
Neph's sort of pining after Cade (it's pathetic and sad and if anyone ever brings it up she will relocate their kidneys), hasn't really been eating or sleeping, so Todd gets the genius idea of hitching a tray of food up to Neph's dog. Random bystanders Kisho and Damian are...befuddled. Elly takes her job as sled dog very seriously.
Though I decided to take the semester off the comic to concentrate on my workload for Perspective Drawing (see fandf), I still want to do something productive for it. So I'm going to try and revamp the profile pictures in that time. Because they need it desperately. Not that they suck, exactly, just that there've been some drastic style changes on my part and character design changes on theirs. And I have more confidance in my costume design abilities now. I want to get profiles for the secondary cast up and running too. Which means I need to sit down and plot out more Guardians, 'cause Damian, Inya and Joy aren't enough (I hesitate to include Tasha in the rolecall unless Rae gives me permission to weild her). So that's something to look forward to!